Children love to toe the line of their parents’ sanity. It’s a thrill and a social learning experience to see how close they can get to the edge of a rule before Mom or Dad cracks. My son does it to me; I did it to my parents; you probably did it to yours, too. All of us have our lessons we’ve learned from pushing it a little too far.

For me and my sister, the biggest DO NOT CROSS line was boredom. Just alluding to the possibility of being bored conjured up Mom’s List of Suggestions that we could undertake in order to overcome our unfortunate childhood entertainment deficit. Nothing on the list even resembled fun, and if we appeared unoccupied we’d find ourselves fully engaged with something so horrendous that counting clay particles alone behind the barn was a very appealing alternative. The safest bet was to plaster a smile on our faces and assure every adult we encountered that we were indeed having the time of our lives and really couldn’t think of anything better to do than to exist fully in each passing moment.

I remember wanting to complain about boredom. If fact, it seemed cool to be bored; teenagers in the movies were glorified for sitting around believing the world so lame that they couldn’t stand it. I got a little anxious having fun at home and missing out on valuable adolescent development. Thank goodness I survived.

Mom and her List taught me how to keep myself entertained no matter what. I’m approaching 35 and it feels a little awkward to acknowledge as an adult that my imagination still operates in overdrive, just as it was required to when I was young. There is always something on the back burner of my mind waiting to leap out. February is a great month to set some ideas loose.

Right now I’m stuck on syrup. Maple, of course, is the most popular and in order to partake I dug out all the old gear we used to tap trees when I was young. We’ve drilled a couple trees and I’m boiling sap like crazy in our kitchen. For the uninitiated, there is a 40:1 reduction ratio to get from tree sap to syrup. That’s 40 gallons of sap to get a gallon of pancake dressing. How I appreciate the people who do this for a living, carting in so much volume and ending with a drop to sell.

Syrup is a communal endeavor; I’ve conscripted my parents and my sister and her husband to sap boiling, and we’re engaged in a contest to see which household can produce the best blend. Our efforts will conclude with a pancake feast to determine the winner. I really can’t think of anything that has me more excited at the moment.

Except, perhaps, Hickory syrup. This is a delicacy I’d never heard of until a bottle was gifted to me this winter. Created by boiling toasted Hickory bark, adding loads of sugar, and then reducing the tea to a thickened consistency, hickory syrup packs a robust punch of flavor that differs dramatically from maple syrup.

Native Americans treasured the Hickory for its flexible wood, delicious nuts, and for teas made from the bark. They used the drink to subdue discomfort associated with rheumatism and arthritis, an indication of anti-inflammatory compounds in the bark. According to Doug Drewes, a Hickory syrup expert from Mifflintown, the syrup also packs trace minerals and magnesium. In other words, a little Hickory goes a long way.

Never satisfied to leave well enough alone – it’s that blasted imagination again - I’ve decided that simply enjoying a bottle of Hickory syrup is inadequate; I need to make the stuff. Toasting pieces of bark in the oven is a critical step to release the full flavor of the Hickory before immersing it in water to make tea. It’s important not to boil the bark, as a bitter taste will result. After simmering, the tea can be infused with a 1:1 ratio of sugar and reduced by about a third to make a simple Hickory syrup. As I type, some sugary golden liquid is simmering on the stove, filling our house with a wooden smell that is not at all unpleasant. I intend to use the Hickory as my ace-in-the-hole at the family pancake competition. Nobody will see that coming.

Making syrup is a hobby for me and I’m enjoying it immensely, in no small part because I dearly miss the bounty of nature that has been quieted during winter. It’s good to harvest and refine something tasty when everything else is dormant. This is an excellent bonding experience with my son who, at three and a half, is equally as riveted as I am with the refining process, but possesses a fraction of the required attention span. He’ll learn, though, and those lessons will serve him well in a few more years when he’s tempted to be bored.

I’m ready for it.

I have a list.

Sappy